


Midnight talks

by ShariDeschain



Series: I wish you would write a fic where meme [1]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Protective Siblings, mentions of abuse, mushy feelings rolling all around the place, random breakdown, siblings bonding, useless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShariDeschain/pseuds/ShariDeschain
Summary: Damian's family loves him. Sometimes they even say it (or come really, really, really close to say it, at least).





	1. Bruce

He looks for Alfred the Cat everywhere, and finds him exactly where he shouldn’t be: down in the Batcave, curled up on Batman’s lap, sharpening his nails against the kevlar of the Dark Knight’s chest.

Alfred is a good cat: he’s loyal and his fur is very fluffy, he has very refined killing instincts, but also horrible timing. Because after the disastrous patrol he just had, the last thing Damian wants tonight is another lecture about responsibility and following orders. He doesn’t want the usual arguments to be turned against him, doesn’t want Bruce pointing out that _of course_ Damian’s pets disobey him, after all they only follow their master’s example.

And still, he may be a lot of other bad things, but Damian Wayne is not a coward. So he squares his shoulders, walks towards his father’s chair and clears his throat before speaking up.

“Sorry.”

Father doesn’t even turn to look at him.

“Sorry for what?”, he grumbles.

“Alfred. I know he shouldn’t be here”, Damian answers, looking at the cat. He’s not angry with him because it’s not Alfred’s fault. Only Damian’s. _Always Damian’s._

Bruce only hums at that, then he moves his hand to pet the cat. It’s ridiculous, but Damian gulps and looks almost in alarm at his father’s fingers reaching around Alfred’s muzzle. But Bruce is not Mother, and of course, _of course_ , he only wants to scratch the cat’s chin. _Of course_ he’ll not snap his neck as a punishment.

“I’ll keep him in my room from now on”, Damian adds anyway, still transfixed. “Train him not to go where he is not wanted.”

Bruce’s fingers stop, and finally he turns around to look at his son.

“Meaning?”, Batman asks.

There’s a weird, uncomfortable, burning feeling in Damian’s stomach now.

“Drake suggested that perhaps it would bother you. Having to take care of… of things that you didn’t choose to- take care of.”

Batman’s silence is never a real silence. It’s always full of something: disappointment, anger, judgment. Damian starts considering the idea of just snatching the cat from his father’s hands and running away as fast as he can until he reaches the safety of his bed and the warmth of Titus’ fur. But Batman moves more rapidly than him, always had, and the next moment Damian finds himself scoped up and settled down into his father’s lap, two strong, muscular arms wrapped tightly around him, Bruce’s mouth brushing hard against his forehead.

“Your cat never bothered me, Damian. Not for one moment”, Bruce murmurs into his hair, picking up Alfred to set him on Damian’s lap. “I loved him from the very moment he was brought into this house. From the exact instant he became a part of this family. I’ve never _not wanted_ him. And I don’t care if he disobeys from time to time.”

Now Damian’s eyes are burning too. It’s a funny feeling, but like, not fun at all.

“Really?”, he asks anyway, whispering without wanting to, and curling more tightly around his pet and into his father’s arms.

“Promise”, Bruce confirms, hugging him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "I wish you would write a fic where..." meme on tumblr. The prompt was ["I wish you would write a fic where... Damian is told he is valuable & loved by everyone in his family, while also being alive to hear it"](https://unavenged-robin.tumblr.com/post/164033677968/i-wish-you-would-write-a-fic-where-damian-is) I started with Bruce but I plan to add the entire family /o/


	2. Jason

It’s one of those night where sleep simply isn’t a viable option for him, so Damian wanders down to the cave to find something to work on. An old case, a new weapon, maybe just training. As long as it keeps him busy, it doesn’t matter to him. 

He spots Jason laying on the ground of the car workshop almost immediately, and decides to ignore him out of the goodness of his heart, even if they both know that he has no right to be here. 

Todd, ill-mannered as ever, doesn’t return him the favor.

The moment he hears him stepping in, Jason resurfaces from under the car he’s currently fixing and whistles to call him. Whistles. Like Damian were a dog. 

“Hey brat, c’mere.”

“No.”

“What do you mean _no_?”

Damian glares, Jason raises an eyebrow. They both exhibit an impressive pair of bags under their eyes, but neither of them is in the position to comment on that.

“It means that I didn’t forgot about the time you dared to put those filthy hands of yours on me, Todd.”

“Jeez, kid”, Jason scoffs, sitting up to look at him. “It was only a wedgie. You make it sound like I beated you or something.”

“Tt. You would never be able to beat me.”

“I would never beat you, period”, Jason retorts harshly, and perhaps too quickly.

Damian opens his mouth to reply that what Jason would or would not do is of little consequence to him, but Jason’s face scrunches up in a funny way while the man anticipates him.

“You know that, right?”, Jason urges him all of sudden. “You know that I would never- I mean, yes, we didn’t have the best start, what with me shooting you and all, but things are… different now, right? You’re my- I wouldn’t-”

His voice wavers, then fades, and Damian honestly doesn’t know what to do with those half-sentences.

“Tt”, he answers then, looking at his feet.

Jason runs a hand over his face and turns it away from him. He looks even weirder now, sitting on the floor cave, covered in grease, his whole body hardened by a mix of anger and sadness and other things Damian doesn’t care to identify.

“What did you want from me?”, he asks anyway, just to break the silence. But Jason sighs and shakes his head, lying down again to return to his work.

“Nevermind, kid.”

Damian marches towards him and his stomping feet create an echo through the whole cave.

“Tell me”, he orders.

Jason sighs again.

“The car”, he answers. “Dick says that you’re quite good with ‘em.”

“Of course I am.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed to him that Jason doesn’t ask directly for his help. Damian kneels down anyway and, squeezing and wriggling, lays down next to him under the car.

He lets Jason begin to explain the problem to him even if he has already a good idea of what it is after one look at the transmission system, and only reaches out for a wrench when Jason’s finished. He guesses that he can humor both Jason and himself for tonight. After all, it’s not like he has better things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Written always for the ["I wish you would write a fic where..."](https://unavenged-robin.tumblr.com/post/164062567918/kyaaaaaaaaaaaa-le-me-is-ded-i-wish-you) meme on tumblr.


	3. Tim

It’s cold and dark around him, there’s a buzzing sound in his head and the feeling of an invisible force crushing his chest, and that’s how Tim knows for sure that he’s drowning.

Except that he’s breathing. He’s swallowing big gulps of air one after the other, like he’s hyperventilating. And another thing Tim knows for sure is that you can’t breath underwater. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay”, a voice shushes him, and it sounds like it’s coming from far away, but it’s not muffled and distorted like it should be.

This drowning thing is not making any sense.

“Tim, Timmy, open your eyes”, the voice continues, and it’s closer now, and more clear. Familiar. “Just open your eyes for me, okay, Timbo?”

Dick. That voice belongs to Dick.

So Tim tries opening his eyes and yes, it’s really Dick. And no, they’re not underwater, which explains why they are both breathing. The weight on his chest are Dick’s hands trying to keep him still, and the buzzing sound comes from the artificial respirator he’s currently wearing over his mouth. Very simple. 

So simple, in fact, that one moment later Tim’s already starting to relax, and he almost falls back asleep again, lulled by Dick’s hushed words, but then he remembers why he was thinking about drowning in the first place and jerks awake again.

“Damian!”, he yells, ripping away the respirator while trying to push himself up. Damian fell from the plane right into the goddamn ocean. Tim squirms under Dick’s hands, kicks the bed sheet away. _Damian_ was drowning, not him.

Now there’s another set of hands on his shoulders, and Tim looks up to find Bruce trying to coax him back to bed too. He doesn’t understand, it’s _Damian_. Damian’s in danger. What the hell are Dick and Bruce doing here?

“He’s fine, Tim, Damian’s fine”, Dick repeats one, two, five times, until Tim finally gets the message. And still he looks at his brother with glassy eyes, like he’s not sure if he should believe him or not. Because Dick lies about important things, just like Bruce. But would Dick lie about this? Would Dick lie about Damian?

Dick seems to catch his thoughts right away, because his smile fades into a thin line while he turns to look behind his back. That’s when Tim notices the small figure standing in th corner of the doorframe.

“Damian, come here a moment, will you?”, Dick calls him with the same gentle voice he was using a minute before to soothe Tim. Damian obeys, but with a reluctance so obvious even Tim can’t miss it.

“See?”, Dick hums at him when Damian comes up to his side. “Little D here is okay, Tim.”

“Minus a very likely cold”, Bruce adds, and Damian scowls at him like he’s taking it as a challenge. Tim almost wants to laugh.

“Okay”, he repeats instead, very slowly, and his voice comes out scratchy and rough. “Okay. I’m glad you’re okay. I thought- you know, I thought-”

“It was very stupid of you to dive in after me without proper protection. You almost killed both of us”, Damian cuts him off, staring at the blankets with an angry frown. Tim, who wasn’t expecting anything different from the kid, just lets out a tired chuckle at that. Yes, Damian’s one hundred percent okay. Good.

“Damian”, Bruce sighs.

Dick doesn’t say anything, but Tim catches him discreetly pinching Damian’s side. The boy swats him away, then huffs and raises his head to finally meet Tim’s eyes.

“Thank you”, he adds, and despite both the subtle and the not so subtle prodding from both of his mentors, Tim likes to think there’s some sincerity there, under all the harsh words and the arrogant pose. So he smiles again.

“Welcome”, he answers. And then he does something he wouldn’t do in any other circumstance, but that right now, with the fear of the night still sending shivers down his spine, he really needs to do. He reaches out for Damian’s hand.

And Damian lets Tim take it too. Not only that, but he also squeezes back when Tim tangles their fingers together, like he’s trying to let him know that maybe, _maybe_ , Tim wasn’t the only one scared for his brother tonight.

Yes, it’s good.

Just not good enough for Dick apparently, because he scoffs at the sight like he can’t believe them, and in one, quick swoop he picks Damian up into his arms to deposit him right into Tim’s lap.

Tim laughs at Damian’s indignant squeak of protest, but in his mind he’s still seeing his little brother sinking down into the ocean, unconscious and as pale as a corpse in the black, freezing waters around them. He doesn’t even remember catching him, or breaking up to the surface, only the drowning. Only the feeling of having failed again at saving his family. Only the memory of the first time he had to see Damian dying under his eyes. 

So his laugh breaks and Tim lets himself go as he hugs Damian tight to his chest, hiding his face into the kids’ hair. And so what, if he’s crying? So what, if Damian will think that he’s weak and make of fun of him because of it? So what?

He doesn’t know for how long he keeps sobbing before a little hand comes up to somewhat awkwardly push at his face.

“Dra- Tim, it’s okay”, Damian whispers from under him, squirming over his lap. “It’s okay, we’re both fine, it wasn’t- it wasn’t totally stupid what you did. Just stop doing this? Please?”

And Tim laughs again because really? That’s what it takes to get Damian to be civil to him? A breakdown? Oh, if he only had known before.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry”, Tim sniffles, resting his forehead against his little brother’s temple. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop crying in a moment, I promise.”

Damian doesn’t look convinced enough to take his word for it, and Tim sees him glancing at Dick for help. And of course Dick doesn't need to be asked twice. The mattress sags a bit to the side under his weight, but they manage not to topple over, and a moment later Dick’s arms are circling the both of them, offering warmth and a more familiar comfort.

Tim rubs the sleeve of his shirt over his face and sinks into Dick’s embrace, dragging Damian along with him. He’s pretty sure that the kid’s not giving them hell about all the snuggling and manhandling only because he’s scared of Tim starting crying on him again or something, but looking up at Bruce, who’s now smiling fondly at them, Tim decides that well, who cares? For tonight it’s good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I mixed up [three prompts](https://unavenged-robin.tumblr.com/post/164108422218/if-youre-still-doing-these-i-wish-you-would) for this one. I hope no one got offended.  
> \- I promise you this is the last time I change the summary.


	4. Cassandra

Father is going to be angry with him, Damian knows. Grayson’s going to be even angrier. And Pennyworth will make him regret this for a long, long time. It doesn’t matter. He will deal with the consequences later, for now he has to take care of the action.

It’s not easy, slipping into a kevlar costume with two cracked ribs and a broken wrist, but Damian manages anyway. The boots are the real problem anyway, because to tie them he has to bend over, and it _hurts_. So bad that Damian ignominiously tears up. Because it’s the pain, and nothing else, making his vision so watery. Not the shame of having being held hostage by a few common criminals and beaten up in front of Father _and_ Grayson. Not the feeling of having disappointed and dishonored both the costume he’s wearing and the people who trusted him with it.

He straightens his back with a hiss and something that someone else - someone without a strong survival instinct, like Drake - would’ve called a choked sob. He wipes his face angrily, the rough material of his gauntlets scratching hard against the skin, and then he turns around, more out of guilt and sheer instinct than anything else, because the shadow behind him never made a sound, never breathed loud enough for him to sense it, or moved in anything else than a deadly silent fashion.

“Out of my way”, Damian barks, without allowing himself to show any kind of surprise. “Father let them go in favor of getting me back to the cave. So now I will find them, and I will make them pay, and you are not going to stop me.”

He tries to keep his voice low, tries to imitate the imposing, menacing tone the Batman uses against his enemies, but even to his own ears the imitation is poorly executed and almost ridiculous. More tears wells up in the corner of his eyes and Damian feels like he wants to scream.

Cassandra’s hands are a soft touch on his shoulders, and yet Damian knows that he wouldn’t be able to shake them off if he tried. He looks up at her in anger then, a list of insults already rolling on the tip of his tongue. If he insults them enough, sometimes they leave him alone, Damian’s learned. Sure enough, Cain is not Drake or Todd, but she’s not Grayson either. It’s worth a try.

But then Damian notices the blood on her chin, the swelling around her eye. He notices the cuts and the bruises and, more than anything else, he notices the angry line of her jaw and the look in her eyes. She’s not pitying him and she’s not angry at him. She’s angry _for_ him.

_That_ is a surprise.

Cassandra takes advantage of Damian’s stupor and kneels down in front of him. Now her hands are on Damian’s cheeks, cupping his face gently, mindful of the bruises.

“It’s done”, she says, and there it is, the voice Damian was so hardly trying to imitate.

Damian blinks. There’s blood on his sister’s hands. He can smell it, feel it under her fingers and over his own skin. He doesn’t mind. Blood had never bothered him that much in the first place.

“Father found them?”, he asks, confused. “But he was going to the docks. Gordon called him there and he said that it was more urgent- more… more important than-”

Cassandra shakes her head. The fury in her eyes doesn’t quiver, her hands don’t drop. The way she’s looking at him now, makes Damian think of Mother, and it’s weird, and disturbing, but not totally unpleasant. He never admits it even to himself, but he misses Talia sometimes. Especially when he feels weak, when he can’t find the will to pick himself up.

“I found them”, Cassandra explains slowly. “I made them pay.”

And she doesn’t kill, Damian knows. But she doesn’t pull her punches either. Not like Father and Grayson do. Not like Damian either, at least nowadays. When they fight, they’re all afraid to slip, to make a mistake and cross a line that shouldn’t be crossed. But Cassandra's never afraid of herself. Damian envies that. He _misses_ that.

“It wasn’t your job”, he answers her anyway, even if he knows that, with her, his kidnappers got exactly what they deserved. Not less, as it would’ve happened if Father had been the one to find them. Not more, as it would’ve happened if Damian had.

“Yes. It is”, Cassandra says, and all of sudden her eyes are soft, and she’s smiling in a way Talia’s never smiled, not in front of him, at least.

Damian clicks his tongue at her and doesn’t correct her claim.

“Now bed”, Cassandra continues. “Before Alfred knows.”

She leaves him with a pat on his cheek and a kiss on his forehead, and Damian doesn’t even have the time to pretend he’s insulted by any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Prompt: [I wish you would write a fic where... Damian was badly injured and Cass goes after the one who did it.](https://unavenged-robin.tumblr.com/post/164257639368/i-wish-you-would-write-a-fic-where-damian-was)  
> \- This also goes along with [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11785119) because Cassandra protecting her little brothers is what Gotham needs and deserve.


	5. Dick

He doesn’t know what wakes him up. Maybe it’s the excessive warmth. Maybe it’s the quiet breath rhythmically ruffling his hair. Maybe it’s the strong smell of a familiar aftershave.

Still, Damian wakes up. 

And it takes him a moment to understand where he is and why he’s there. The only thing he knows for certain, even before all his senses come back to him, is that he’s with Grayson.

“You fell asleep in the cave again”, Dick scolds him gently, and with his cheek pressed against him, Damian can hear the words rumbling in his brother’s chest.

“I was working”, Damian protests, or tries to. He’s too tired to even open his eyes, so intelligible communication is not top priority for him right now.

Dick hums, and then there are rough fingers in Damian’s hair. It’s childish, and inappropriate, and almost insulting to be petted like a cat, and Grayson’s so gonna pay for it. Later. For now Damian only yawns and nuzzles against his brother’s neck.

“One of these nights I’ll come down here and find you sleeping upside down”, Dick jokes.

“That’s stupid”, Damian mumbles.

“So it is keeping working on a case instead of getting some sleep”, Dick retorts.

That makes Damian open his eyes. He doesn’t really want to move from where he is, cradled into his brother’s lap and cocooned in the warmth of Dick’s arms, but there is a point to be proven here, and as tired as he may feel, Damian can’t pass on the occasion to call out Grayson’s bullshit.

So he pushes himself up against his brother’s shoulder until he can raise his head to meet Dick’s eyes and, of course, they’re as red and tired as his own. Damian turns his head to look at the computer, and then he pointedly looks back at Dick. 

Dick, who’s sitting rigidly into Batman’s chair, still in full costume, mask and all.

Dick, who’s still reviewing files from their last case despite it being solved and ready to be archived.

“Yeah, okay, point taken, smartass”, Dick snorts, cupping the back of Damian’s head and pushing him down against his chest again. “Ten minutes more and then we’re both going to bed.”

Damian has a smart, sharp answer on the tip of his tongue, but a yawn takes it away. 

He falls asleep as he woke up: with Dick’s scent sorrounding him, enclosed in his warmth, and lulled by his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Prompt: [I wish you would write a fic where Damian is trying too hard to prove himself but Dick knows he doesn't need to prove anything at all](https://unavenged-robin.tumblr.com/post/164101213988/i-wish-you-would-write-a-fic-where-damian-is)
> 
> \- "But Shari", you say, "Where's the subtle declaration of love for Damian in this one?"  
> "Well, you see, this is Dick", I answer, "so his every breath is a declaration of love for Damian."


	6. Stephanie

She’s trying, really, really trying to focus on writing her essay, but it’s impossible. Her gaze and her attention keep wandering to her left and towards her bed. Her very pink, very messy bed, covered in stuffed animals and creepy porcelain dolls, all leftovers of a childhood that her mother still likes to think as happy - to the extent to which broken things can be happy, of course.

It’s the only reason Stephanie kept all that stuff, and she could explain it to the kid currently laying on her bed, tucked to his chin under the pink comforter and surrounded by her old toys, if she weren't already too busy trying not to laugh to his face. And if her mother weren't there in the room with them, obviously.

“Here”, Crystal’s saying while placing a tray on the nightstand near the bed. “I put some honey into the chamomile, it will be good for your throat.”

“Thank you”, Damian and his scratchy throat answer, the perfect image of a sick, polite little boy.

Stephanie has to press a hand over her mouth to hide her snickering. She’s sure that Damian notices anyway.

“No problem at all, sweetheart”, her mother answers, and that’s just too good to resist, so Stephanie removes her hand from her face and stares right into Damian’s watery eyes before slowly, gleefully, mouthing the word again at him. _Sweetheart_.

Judging by the look on the kid’s face he’s gonna kill her in a very painful way as soon as they’re alone but oh. It will be so worth it.

She only stops sneering when Crystal goes as far as running a hand through the boy’s hair, a mindless display of affection that immobilizes Damian in something that is more than just awkward discomfort. He downright freezes under her touch, and Stephanie bits her bottom lip. Maybe she should’ve warned her mother about it, but the whole thing had been all so sudden that from the moment Dick had dropped Damian to her house to the time her mother had returned from the grocery shopping, she’d barely had the chance to think of a good excuse to justify the boy’s presence into their home, let alone explaining how... _peculiar_ this particular boy is.

As a matter of fact, she’d been already halfway through a quite unbelievable story about a college friend with a passion for volunteering in orphanages, when it had occurred to her that she could have just presented Damian as her boyfriend's little brother since, despite Tim’s claiming, that’s exactly what Damian was to her.

It had been frightening to realize that she was so accustomed to lying to her mother that the truth had come to her mind only by chance. Damian’s look of disbelief during the whole charade had not helped in the slightest, by the way.

“You’re dead, Brown”, Damian says from the bed, and that’s when Stephanie realizes that her mother’s gone and that now the kid has the opportunity to kill her and hide her body in the attic. Except for the fact that they don’t have an attic. And that Damian’s too sick to even get up from the bed, let alone kill anyone.

“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart”, she teases now that she’s sure to live to see another Gotham’s polluted dawn. “Or my mom could get the idea that you’re a little demon or something like that.”

Damian opens his mouth, probably to insult her and everyone she’s ever loved, but a fit of coughs is the only thing that comes out of him. Stephanie takes pity on him, so she gets up from the desk chair to reach out for the mug on the nightstand, and she hands it to Damian as a peace offer.

It takes a painful-looking minute for Damian to be actually able to take it, and by then all of the teasing has just flown out of her. She helps him sitting straight against the pillows and makes sure his hold is steady around the hot mug. In response, Damian only sniffs at her, all haughty and mighty even with that red nose and the bed-head. He clears his throat before resuming their discussion.

“Your mother, she is…”

Stephanie cracks her knuckles under his nose. Her pity for sick children does have a limit and he better knows it.

“Watch it.”

“...nice”, Damian finishes, taking a sip out of his chamomile.

“Oh.”

...Well, that was unexpected. Maybe she should check if his fever’s up again.

“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”, she says instead, a little embarrassed.

Damian nods around his mug and Stephanie sits down beside him on her bed. The silence between them is a little weird now, but not entirely uncomfortable. She watches the boy swallowing down a few big gulps and remembers all the times she had done the same as a child, as if her mother's herbal concoctions were some kind of a miraculous antidote to all the evils of the world: flu, broken hearts and criminal fathers. And why not, perhaps for a while they had been. Those few years of childhood that she had, had been largely due to Crystal Brown and her efforts to make her daughter happy. It was odd to think that Damian's story was, in a certain sense, the very opposite of her own.

“Do you miss your mom?”, she asks instinctively before she even realizes that she has opened her mouth to speak.

Damian, who was contemplating the content of his mug with a vaguely lost look, raises his head so fast that Stephanie can almost hear the snap of his neck.

_“What?”_

“I’m sorry”, she apologizes quickly. “I didn’t really want to- I mean, it was only a thought and it wasn’t supposed to actually come out of my head, you know? It’s just, I was wondering if maybe, you know… My mother’s always been the first person I’d go to when I was hurt or ill, and I used to think that it was quite a common thing for all the children but, I mean, I guess not, right?”

Damian's eyes are old, impassive green stones embedded in a child's round face: they’re unsettling at best and threatening at worst, but right now they just seems to be confused.

“Sorry”, Stephanie repeats, like a broken record.

Damian pauses, looks away from her and takes another sip before answering.

“I did not go to my mother when I was in distress. That wouldn’t have been helpful in the slightest, neither to me nor to her”, he admits slowly, accompanying the words with a thoughtful scowl. “But I do miss her. Sometimes. When I’m not… at my possible best.”

 _Yes_ , Stephanie thinks, _his fever must be up again._

“That’s…”, _sad, honestly_. “Normal, I think.”

She raises a hand to push some hair away of the boy's forehead and rest her palm on it, and she is not surprised to find it hot to the touch.

“You have a fever”, she announces.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you- alright, whatever. Let’s just-”

“Do you miss your kid?”, he asks back. And the question is so sudden that Stephanie's mind needs a few seconds to catch, process and finally understand it. And even then.

_“What?”_

Damian looks both guilty and defiant at a same time while he peeps up from under the hand that she’s still holding against his forehead.

“Your kid. The one you gave up”, he explains, as if there was the need to explain it.

Stephanie lets three heartbeats pass. She counts them. One-one. Two-two. Three-three. She gets up from the bed, goes to her desk to look for the ibuprofen her mother left there, and keeps counting her heartbeats.

“How do you know?”, she asks eventually, her back still turned at him.

“I read your files”, comes the answer, and it’s not as smug as she would’ve expected.

Stephanie turns again to hand him the pills. Damian looks up at her and his face is a little bit redder, and she’s ready to bet it’s not only because of the fever. Dick must’ve given him one hell of a lecture about snooping around the Batman’s private files if Damian still feels guilty about it, Stephanie realizes. Good.

“That’s personal”, she answers then, trying to be calm, because lashing out on a ten years old with the flu - even if that ten years old is Damian Wayne - would be a new lowest even for her. “You have no right to ask me about that.”

She grimaces a little. _That_ should not be the right word for… _that_.

Damian swallows the pills, then sniffs and gives her again that half-and-half look that seems to mean something like _I may not be absolutely right but you are a lot less right than I am._

“You asked me a personal question”, he reminds her with a deadpan look. “And I answered.”

Oh god, to be called out by a fourth-grader.

Really, she had agreed to Dick’s almost desperate plea to keep Damian at her house for the night only to get into the new Batman’s good graces and squeeze some informations out of him about a new drug ring she discovered. She had never agreed to play the role of both the paediatrician and the child psychologist for him.

“It’s not the same thing”, she answers weakly.

“Yes, it is”, Damian calls her out on her bullshit again and with no mercy as usual. “You are a hypocrite, just like Drake. Always ready to question and accuse others, but when it's up to you to answer uncomfortable questions you'll always pull yourself back.”

His fists are so tightly squeezed around the sheets that smoothing them with her hands it's probably not going to be enough to straighten the folds. She’ll have to iron them, as if she didn't already have so much more to do.

She remains silent for a few seconds. She could always turn around and get out of the room, wait for Alfred to come back from London to bring Damian to his home, let the butler deal with this. It's not like he's not used to it, if Tim's stories are of any indication.

She sits again on her bed.

“No”, she answers then, looking right into Damian's eyes. “ _Miss_ is not the world I’d use. You must've had something to miss it. What I feel is more like… longing, I think. And only sometimes. When I’m not… at my possible best, I guess.”

Damian holds her gaze, only squirms a little against the pillows.

“But you don’t regret it.”

It’s weird, Stephanie thinks. She should considers Damian’s words as insensitive, and rude, and downright intrusive. Instead, listening to them makes her feel almost relieved. Things like _that_ are weird too. They’re not secrets but you feel like you can never talk about them, and if you do you always feel compelled to feel guilty about it. And she isn't.

“No, I don’t.”

Even if he was expecting her confirmation, Damian still looks puzzled at her answer, and she’s starting to understand why.

“You think I should’ve kept it?”

“It was yours”, Damian says carefully, like it's a very difficult question with a very simple answer.

“Children are not a thing you own, Damian.”

She wonders if anyone has ever told him that or if he's only starting to suspect it. Is this the continuation of a conversation already started by someone else, or is Damian having this talk with her as a general rehearsal before the real discussion he wants to have? Either way, it’s probably Stephanie’s fault. She shouldn’t have mentioned the kid’s mother. She’s brought this upon herself.

But in for a penny, in for a pound, she guesses.

“I also think that children should stay with people who not only _want_ them very, very much, but that also _love_ them very, very much. People that are both willing _and_ capable to look after them to the best of their ability. People old enough to know what they’re doing, at the very least”, she continues with a smile. “I had some of those things, but lacked in others. Overall, I think I did what was right for the baby. Which is the only important thing.”

Words that she has repeated in her mind for years, night after night. It's not nice to discover that they haven't become easier to accept or to say aloud.

“And that was… giving it up to someone else”, Damian points out, like he wants to be sure about this point in particular.

“Giving it up to someone who would love her and raise her better than I could have done”, she corrects gently, even if her heart hurts a little. “Having a child doesn’t necessarily make you a parent. But loving a child does. That’s what I believe.”

Damian chews on that information for a few moments.

“Even if they’re complete strangers? Like, not blood?”

“Yes, even then.”

“Nh.”

Maybe she should be more explicit. Tell him that yes, Dick and Alfred really love him, and yes, it’s a good thing and not a betrayal against his other family. Tell him that Bruce would’ve loved him just the same, even if she has no idea if this is true or not. Explain to him that Tim’s not there yet but that he would protect him anyway, because they’re family and that’s what matters. That he has her, and Cass, and Barbara too.

But that would probably be pushing it too much and the kid already looks exhausted. And a little bit green, now that she looks more closely. A little bit too much green.

“You should go to sleep”, Stephanie decides. “And… uh, there’s a bucket to your left if you need it.”

Damian looks up at her. Yep, he’s totally green now.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I need it.”

“Oh.”

Dick’s so gonna own her, Stephanie thinks while she holds the bucket for Damian to vomit into. This was _so not_ how she had planned to spend her night.

Eventually she helps the kid to a glass of water and some mouthwash, then somehow ends up laying on her bed next to him, an arm across his shoulder, his head against her neck, short hair tickling her cheek. Damian’s so spent he doesn’t even try to push her away.

 _Longing_ , Stephanie had called her feeling towards a daughter she never had. It’s a good word. She longs for lots of things lately. Misses a lot of people too. She misses Cassandra. She misses Tim. God almighty, she even misses Bruce. She lost so much, and in return she ended up with a legacy she's not sure she can fulfill, a city to help saving, a mother that's none the wiser, and now a child who is mostly a stranger, a little, angry, dangerous assassin, curled up against her in her own bed.

What’s life for normal people, she wonders.

“You know”, she starts after a moment, almost absentmindedly. “You and Tim have more things in common than you might think.”

Damian scoffs from beneath the comforter.

“I mean it. His parents…”, she shakes her head, tangles her fingers in Damian’s sweaty hair. “He had issues too. He wasn't used to having the attention of his mother either, for example. You could talk to him about it, if you wanted. He’s not in a great place right now, but he’s a good person, and if you’re civil to him he’ll be civil to you.”

The kid scoffs again, squirms around a bit to find a more comfortable position, then sighs.

“After Pennyworth, I believe you to be the slightly worse option when it comes to forced company.”

Which is probably his unique way to tell her that he prefers to talk with her more than anybody else.

“Why, thank you”, Stephanie laughs. “I love you too. Even if I’m a stranger. See?”

Damian hums but doesn't answer. Maybe he just doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction to admit she has a point.

She shakes her head against his, then reaches out to turn off the lights. There is still the essay for tomorrow to write and some background-checks for that drug ring she’s been following for a while now, but she feels exhausted too, and Damian’s such a warm, comfortable weight beside her. Talk about the situations she would’ve never imagined to find herself into.

She settles back against the pillows, pulls Damian to her chest. He’s hot, but she can feel him shivering, so she can only hold him closer and hope not to catch the flu from him. And if she does, then it’s something more to add to Dick’s tab. He’s going to own her _for months._

“You could marry him.”

The voice comes out groggy and tired from under the blankets and Stephanie, who was one moment away from sleep, has to blink herself awake.

“What? Who?”, she manages to ask.

An exasperated sigh.

“Drake.”

Conversations in the dark always sound kind of surreal, but this one pushes it to a whole new level, Stephanie thinks.

“And why would I marry him?”, she asks.

Damian sighs again, nuzzles against her neck. Who’d have said that the kid becomes cuddly when sick? That’s some serious blackmail material right here in her arms.

“Because then you would not be a stranger”, Damian yawns. “Then you would be my sister.”

_Oh._

“Oh”, she repeats out loud. She feels a smile forming on her lips. “I’d like that.”

In the dark she can’t see the kid’s face, but she can feel the flutter of Damian’s lashes against her skin as he fights to stay awake. Cuddly _and_ nice. Well, that’s definitely some new insights.

“And once you marry him”, Damian continues with another yawn and a voice reduced to a whisper. “We can kill him off.”

“Damian! No!”

“Why not?”, he complains grumpily. “He would’ve served his purpose then.”

Stephanie doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or to sigh at that. In doubt, she only shushes him.

“We’ll see”, she adds then, trying and failing at keeping the amusement out of her voice. “Now sleep. Murder plots against husbands and brothers are better discussed over breakfast and after eight hours of sleep.”

Tomorrow morning she'll be ready to swear before a jury that she's heard Damian actually giggle at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite canon thing is Damian seeking out Stephanie for advices/to ask her things. And one of my favorite headcanons is that Damian (not so) secretly ships Tim and Stephanie together because he wants Steph to legally be his sister and that’s like the only useful thing Tim can do for him in his entire life. This is basically the results of those two facts.
> 
> \- [Tumblr prompt](https://unavenged-robin.tumblr.com/post/170615847653/uh-theres-a-bucket-to-your-left-if-you-need)


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